A Killer And A Healer
by vvedecci
Summary: (Pre-Batman Begins) Dr. Crane finds someone who reminds him a lot of himself. Will he break her and create a new villian of Gotham, or will he actually perform his Psychiatric duties... for once. Crane / OC


A Killer and a Healer

- 1 -

The cold metal handcuffs were bruising her skin. She walked with a foreign, gloved hand placed firmly on her shoulder. Head down to the world. Eyes on the ground. She was nothing. She wanted to be permanently nothing. She heard a door open in front of her and she looked up into a cold, white room. The hand now pressed into her back, making her walk forward once again. She sat down on the cheap excuse for a bed, and wished it were all over. Wished she were dreaming, forever. If they were going to keep her in a place like this, what was the point of allowing her to stay alive? Death would be so much nicer, so filled with peace. That's all she wanted. Peace. Tranquility. Nothingness. She looked up at the ceiling, a black dome at the center. Cameras. She looked at the wall, a mirror, no doubt see-through from the other side. So this was suicide watch.

Dr. Crane was sitting in his office, an unidentified open book in his hand. He adjusted his glasses and stared forward. His light blue eyes were almost inhuman, like they could stare straight through a person and vaporize them into thin air. A piece of his dark, somewhat wavy hair fell to his forward. He made no motion to adjust himself. Simply sitting there, reading, like a statue. A knock at the door, however, did make his head shoot up. "Come in," he said with a serious face. A short, dark-haired nurse walked in holding a clipboard. "Doctor, we have a new patient in today, Veronica Jenson. Suicide watch. We need you to take a look at her and figure out treatment." He stared at her unphased. "Of course, nurse Jackie, bring her down to one of my examination rooms please and I will be there shortly." He reached for his briefcase. "I will doctor, but I would like to make a further note to you on this one. She is young, she is very fragile and ready to break at any moment. I know some of your methods have left patients in utter fear of their own imaginations and I don't think that's something you should push this.." Crane cut her off, "Thank you Jackie but my methods of treatment are decided upon by me and me only and what I see fit. Bring her to the basement please." The nurse reluctantly nodded her head and walked out of the office. Crane smirked and opened up the briefcase, revealing the familiar burlap sac.

Veronica sat staring at the wall. She didn't want to move, she didn't want to think. Nothing was going to help her. A single tear rolled down her cheek. She heard a buzz and the door to her cell opened, "Hi dear, my name is nurse Jackie and I'm going to take you to a different room, okay?" The nurse sounded as genuinely sweet as she could, staring at a rail of a girl with long, unkempt blonde hair and shaking hands. Veronica nodded her head and stood up, the nurse lay a hand on her shoulder and a large man walked next to them. She was escorted downstairs and walked into the third room down a dimly-lit hallway. "Please sit here dear, I'll stay with you until the doctor comes." The girl walked over to a large metal chair and sat, saying nothing. The room was horrifying, nothing but a smaller chair to the side, she assumed for the doctor. Not even a table. Just metal chairs. Why couldn't she just be dead? A few minutes passed and she heard the nurse mumble something out the door, then a tall man in a suit and white jacket over it walked into the room. The nurse left and the door shut.

The doctor put his briefcase down, not saying a word. She was shocked, not even a greeting through the door. Other doctors who knew she was suicidal tried to be as cheery as possible. He looked up at her with an expressionless face. She returned the stare. "Good morning, Miss Jenson," he uttered to her. "Hello," was all she could force up. Her voice was hoarse. Each time she spoke she wanted to cry. This was life. "I would ask how you are doing but it doesn't sound like that would be a good question at all. You are suicidal, aren't you?" Again, he acted as if the words meant nothing. Tears welled up in her eyes, "Yes," she whispered. "You feel like there is no way out. You feel you have no purpose in the world. No one would care, no one would be affected. You just want to run away from all of your fears." The first part was true, she thought, but that last part brought up anger. Her eyes widened through the tears and she shot him a deadly look, "No." His expression changed for the first time, into inquiry and somewhat mockery, "No?" Now he just made her sick, "I am not running away from fears. I am doing it so that I can finally feel peace. I don't want to hurt anymore. I don't want to feel a constant disturbance and hatred inside of me. I just want to feel nothing. I just want to be gone," this was the longest she had spoken in a few days, and was clearly exhausted afterward. Her head dropped down to her still cuffed hands. She began crying hysterically.

The doctor studied her carefully. He wanted to use his fear toxin, but its effects would produce not much more than what she was already doing… shaking and crying. For a moment he actually felt pity for the girl. She was pathetic. He took the chair and brought it in front of hers, sitting down. He crossed his legs and folded his arms, casually waiting for her to stop so the questions could continue. He wasn't the comforting type. Her breathing began to slow and the cries were fading. Now she was just resting her head in her hands. Surely developed a headache. "Miss Jenson…" She looked up, clearly a little startled by his new position. "Doctor, you don't seem to care too much, so can you do me a favor and just give me a knife, gun, or a bottle of pills and just let me end this already." He signed, clearly a bit annoyed. "No, I can't do that. See I am a doctor and my job is to help you and talk you out of this rough time. Now I don't see life as a happy thing either, but I am not going to kill myself. If I were to kill myself, life wins. The pains of life do not deserve to win, do they?" She stared into his eyes, "You don't like living either?" He laughed a bit, "Of course not. It's awful. But it's what you do with the anger towards it that matters. Do you collapse in on yourself like a dying star, or do you give it hell right back?" She was dumbfounded. Any doctor or nurse she's spoken to had tried to tell her about the joys in life and the future and how much the world needs her. He was telling her if the world shits on you, you shit right back on it. "Well… what am I supposed to do?" He stood up and walked directly in front of her, "I want you to stop hating yourself and start hating the things which cause you pain. That's the only way to make it through this life and come out a winner. Now I am prescribing you an antidepressant which you must take daily, but when I meet with you again you had better have worked on your self-loathing." She stared up at him, he was so tall and his eyes pierced down at her, "Sure, doctor." She whispered. "My name is Dr. Jonathon Crane, but please, just call me Jonathon." She nodded her head and he turned, grabbed his briefcase and walked towards the door, "Come on, I'll take you back to the nurse." She stood slowly and walked towards him, he held the door open and she walked through. This was the first time she walked without a hand on her shoulder or anyone restraining her path. She felt trusted. The doctor walked close behind her, but nothing restrictive. They made it to the nurse's station and nurse Jackie rushed over immediately when she saw them, "Hello dear, you're all done? Are you okay?" Veronica was a little surprised, she had just been with a doctor not a serial killer, why would she be any worse then before? Dr. Crane spoke up before she could speak, "She's doing okay, Jackie. Please escort her to her room." She turned to look back at the doctor and he nodded at her. She walked back to her room, hand on shoulder, and layed down on the bed. Surprisingly feeling a little better than before. She closed her eyes, and drifted asleep.

Dr. Crane walked back to his office, placing his unopened briefcase on the ground. He stared at it for a moment and sighed. This was the first patient in a while he hadn't used his fear toxin on to fully break their mind. This girl's mind was already broken. She had already hit the limit he loved sending people to. The very limit he had hit when he was her age. Just becoming an adult with a mass of self-hatred on his shoulders. All those years he thought there was something wrong with him, but no. It wasn't him. It was the bullies and his parents and his grandmother. It was them. They deserved his wrath, not him. They made him this way. They made him want to instill the very feelings he and this girl shared onto other people. Scarecrow was a way to make others understand how he felt. How she felt. How the unfortunate people felt. He too had considered suicide at one point, going so close as to putting the noose and burlap sack around his head. But it was then that he realized it wasn't he who deserved it. He did not plan on pushing this girl to becoming like him. But he could not let her take her own life for the atrocities caused by others. No. He would show her the way.


End file.
